


the name across your shoulders

by OxfordCommasRequired



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Fukuroudani, M/M, Nekoma, like 5000 words in and I still haven't gotten to the actual plot, maybe KuroKen but not enough to count really, one shot that got out of hand, please forgive me i know literally nothing about the Japanese school system, sorry I'm not tagging them all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-07-02 00:52:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15785616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OxfordCommasRequired/pseuds/OxfordCommasRequired
Summary: Bokuto opens his mouth, eyes already full of that dangerous excited spark, but he stops before he says anything. His cheeks turn pink. “I don’t know,” he says weakly.Akaashi fights a smile. “Yes, you do,” he challenges. “What is it?”Bokuto glances up at Akaashi and smiles hesitantly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I was gonna say we should play volleyball,” he admits. He laughs at himself, stilted. While Akaashi is usually glad anytime Bokuto shows some self-awareness, this awkward doubt makes him grateful for every easy smile and cocky I’m the best he gets. It makes him glad he can tear that discomfort from his face. Bokuto belongs to happiness, to laughter and warmth.





	1. Secret Plan

**Author's Note:**

> Bokuaka has cleared my skin and made my hair shinier and more manageable.
> 
> I don't have a beta, so apologies for any errors. (Let me know if you want to read a crap ton of stuff like this, bc I'm weak and can't stop writing it, but I probs need some editing.) Enjoy!

September 20th falls on a Saturday this year. This makes Akaashi’s life about ten times more complicated than it would’ve been last year, when it was on a Thursday. But this is the only chance he has. He would go to irrational lengths to make this happen this year, so he doesn’t complain. He does thank the universe for Kuroo, though, which he never thought he’d do.

He suggests the idea and hammers out all the details, but it’s Kuroo who pulls it off so smoothly in the weeks preceding, acting as the distraction with perfect casualness, arousing no suspicion at all. Kuroo sets the groundwork two weeks before the big day. He’s sprawled across the long couch in Bokuto’s house, head pillowed on his hands at one end and toes dangling over the other. Kenma is curled up in a tiny ball on the end of the couch, so that Kuroo’s legs cross in front of him like a seatbelt. He’s playing a game on his phone, eyes flicking back and forth over the screen with intense concentration. The TV is on, but they’re mostly ignoring it, except to make fun of the terrible script.

“Hey hey hey, Bo,” Kuroo drawls with a taunting, toothy grin, flopping onto his back and stretching out like an actual cat. Kenma lifts his arms as Kuroo’s legs fly toward him, smoothly preventing a collision without so much as a glance up. He rests his elbows on Kuroo’s shins and keeps playing. “Your birthday is coming up, isn’t it?” Kuroo asks, the picture of — well, not of innocence, because it’s _Kuroo_ , but of guilt completely unrelated to what he’s trying to do.

Bokuto leans up on his elbows from where he’d been laying on the carpet. His t-shirt finally takes mercy on Akaashi and falls over the sharp hipbones and thick, defined muscles of his abdomen it had been flaunting. Akaashi internally sighs in relief. Why a little bit of stomach got to him when Bokuto routinely practices without a shirt and they change together in the club room twice a day, Akaashi couldn’t say, but holy hell, did it. He abandons the coffee-table book on Malaysian history that he’d been pretending to peruse to keep his eyes from constantly drifting and rests his chin on his tucked knees, focused on the conversation again. Bokuto catches the volleyball he’d been tossing in the air and spins it in his hands, lips stretching into a goofy, vibrant grin that makes him hard to look away from. “Yeah! It’s gonna be on a Saturday, so we should all hang out!”

“Sounds good to me,” Kuroo says easily. “What do you want to do?”

Bokuto opens his mouth, eyes already full of that dangerous excited spark, but he stops before he says anything. His cheeks turn pink. “I don’t know,” he says weakly.

Akaashi fights a smile. “Yes, you do,” he challenges. “What is it?”

Bokuto glances up at Akaashi and smiles hesitantly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “I was gonna say we should play volleyball,” he admits. He laughs at himself, stilted. While Akaashi is usually glad anytime Bokuto shows some self-awareness, this awkward doubt makes him grateful for every easy smile and cocky _I’m the best_ he gets. It makes him glad he can tear that discomfort from his face. Bokuto belongs to happiness, to laughter and warmth. “I guess we do that every day, though. And it’ll be a Saturday, so we probably couldn’t get everybody to come.”

“Well, I’d be in,” Kuroo says.

“Me too,” Kenma says quietly, glancing up at Akaashi with a tiny grin. Akaashi shoots him a grateful look.

Bokuto sits straight up. “Really?!” His head spins to Akaashi, eyes bright again. Akaashi’s chest warms at his returned buoyancy, skin tickling under that powerful focus. “What about you, Akaashi?”

Akaashi squints as though thinking. “September 20th, right?” Bokuto nods vigorously. His hair doesn’t move at all, and Akaashi marvels once again at how much gel he must go through. “Well, my grandparents are coming in that afternoon, so I think I would have to leave early, but I will certainly be there in the morning, if that’s what you’d like to do.”

Bokuto glows, dropping the volleyball into his lap, throwing his hands up in a double fist pump. “Hey hey hey!” He cheers, limbs flailing as he falls back to the ground and spreads out. Akaashi shakes his head. He’s so easy to please. “Do you think anybody else would want to?”

Akaashi shrugs. “They might have plans.” (A couple of the first years do, and Washio is trying to get out of a family event, but the rest of them promised to keep that Saturday clear.) “But you’re their captain, Bokuto-san. I’m sure they’ll join if they can.” Being captain has very little to do with it, of course, but it’s the easiest way to say _you’re magnetic, impossible not to want to be around_ without sounding like a lovesick puppy.

“I’m gonna ask them right now!” He says breathlessly, snatching his phone off the coffee table. Akaashi rolls his eyes at the utter impatience.

Kuroo picks up his own phone. “I’ll text some of our team, see if we can get a full game on.”

Thirty seconds later, Akaashi’s phone buzzes, and he glances down at the screen to see Bokuto’s picture (a terrible selfie with his cheeks puffed out and his eyes crossed, and seeing it is the best practice Akaashi gets at maintaining his poker face) and his contact name (literally just the owl emoji) with a text below it.

 

**Heyyyyyy evry1! Lets celebr8 my bday by killn those Nekos in a practice match!!!!**

 

Akaashi sighs and types out his own text.

 

**That’s on Saturday, Sept 20 at our gym. Please let us know if you’re free.**

 

Bokuto looks up and grins at Akaashi. He’s unrepentant, as always, but the fond smile at least tells Akaashi thank you. Ignoring the flash of warmth through his chest, Akaashi rolls his eyes and gives a small nod. Bokuto furiously types out another text.

 

**Akaashs too polite. B there. CAPTAINS ORDERS.**

 

For the next few minutes, they turn the verbal conversation to the other teams they’ve played, doing terrible impersonations (actually, Kenma’s acting is impressive, and Akaashi’s dead-on version of Oikawa has tears streaming down Kuroo’s face while Bokuto stares, apparently in shock) and trading strategic notes. The texts pour in in the meantime, from both teams. Konoha, Sarukui, and Komi immediately shoot back emojis to indicate they’re in. Washio also sends a thumbs up, so Akaashi assumes he’s resolved his conflict. Then Yukie sends a picture of an excited owl with her confirmation, and everything goes downhill from there.

“I regret allowing this group text so much,” Akaashi says flatly, when his phone vibrates so much it falls off the table to the ground.

Bokuto just laughs.

When they leave a little while later, Akaashi thanks Kuroo and Kenma for their help. Kuroo shrugs. “You’re doing all the work. I’m just hanging out with my bro.” Then he asks, “D’you know where you’re setting up yet?”

Akaashi frowns and shakes his head.

“You wanna use my place? My mom adores Bo — I think she loves him more than she loves me, honestly — so I’m sure she’d love it. And she works nights anyway, so she’ll be gone when the real party starts.” He smirks.

Akaashi is about to politely decline, but Kenma jumps in, cat-like eyes meeting and holding his gaze. Goosebumps race down the back of his neck, like they always do on the rare occasion Kenma makes direct eye contact. “She would insist.”

Akaashi hesitates, then nods. “Thank you.”

“Cool. Keep in touch on the Secret Plan. See you in two weeks!” Kuroo and Kenma wave as they split off from Akaashi.

 

*

 

Akaashi plans everything out, feeling like he’s got everything under control, until Friday, the day before. Then he gets this text from Sarukui:

 

**What r u gettin Bokuto? I’m stuck. He’s already got like 100 volleyballs lol**

 

_Fuck._

He’s fresh out of the shower, hair still dripping. He throws on clothes so fast that they stick uncomfortably to his damp skin, grabs his wallet, and jets out the door.

He paces downtown, panic speeding his steps with every store he scopes without finding anything. He spends nearly an hour in the athletic store, _sure_ he can find something there, but Bokuto’s kneepads are special order, his shoes are practically brand new, and he has more athletic clothes than he could ever need. Akaashi considers just getting him a gift card, but that feels like cheating, feels like something he would get someone he doesn’t know inside and out, and he isn’t that desperate yet.

When the shops start pulling down metal lattices and turning off lights, Akaashi admits defeat for the night and heads home. He prays he will have enough time tomorrow to come back and buy something, prays he’ll have _thought_ of something by then.

 

*

 

Akaashi wakes at sunrise the next day. He leaves for the gym about an hour after that, assuming he’ll be the first one there, but too anxious and excited to sleep anymore. He’s been wanting to practice his float serves anyway.

When he turns the corner to the gym though, the door is open and the lights are on. There’s the distinct squeak of shoes on wood and then the satisfying sound of a ball hitting palm perfectly. Akaashi doesn’t need the thump of the ball hitting the floor or the echoing “Whoo!” to know it was Bokuto serving.

He pauses at the door to switch shoes. “Good morning, Bokuto-san. Happy birthday,” he says.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto says in surprise and delight. He waves from the service line with a ball in his hand. Akaashi indulges in just staring at him for a moment. Bokuto is tanner than usual, thanks to a summer spent playing volleyball outside (when he wasn’t playing volleyball inside), his t-shirt and the white in his hair brighter in contrast, the black in his hair darker. The whole effect turns his earnest smile and bright gold gaze even more radiant, makes Akaashi’s skin feel pink and overly warm like Bokuto is the actual sun and Akaashi’s been standing in his light too long.

Bokuto Koutarou slammed into his life last year with an infectious grin and absolutely no shame, morphed his casual enjoyment of volleyball into a gut-deep need to play, gave him a reason to constantly evolve and improve, just in the hope that he could play one more game, one more point, with Bokuto at his side. The same is true off the court — Akaashi came to Fukurodani without anyone else, but Bokuto immediately wrapped an arm around him and pulled him into his life with an unstoppable strength. Somewhere along the way (probably earlier than he’d like to admit), Akaashi’s admiration and exasperation yielded to Bokuto’s undeniable charisma, and he found himself paying far more attention than what was necessary to monitor his moods.

How that happened in under a year is a mystery, but this time last year, Akaashi was still kind of overwhelmed by Bokuto, a little confused, a little intimidated, and a little incredulous at his mood swings. Now, if asked, he would easily admit Bokuto is the most important person in his life, even ignoring his slightly embarrassing crush. He’s glad he gets at least one year to show him that, especially since the end of their volleyball partnership looms over him with a stale, heavy silence, like the one that will replace his boisterous best friend as his companion next year.

For now, though, Bokuto is right here with him, looking at him with the undisguised exuberance that always makes Akaashi’s heart rate pick up a little. The fact that he looks that thrilled purely from Akaashi showing up honestly makes him kind of light-headed. He’s got his signature thigh-high kneepads on (Akaashi has definitely lost sleep over those stupid kneepads), and his sleeves are rolled up to his shoulders, sweat sliding down his arms, following the contours of well-defined muscles.

Akaashi blinks. “Bokuto-san, you’re sweating.” Bokuto uses the neck of his t-shirt to wipe off his face, as if in confirmation. “How long have you been here?”

Bokuto shrugs, smile going slightly sheepish. “I guess it was dumb to hope you wouldn’t notice. A while,” he says.

Akaashi sighs and rolls his eyes. “I won’t say anything, because it’s your birthday. Just — take care of yourself, okay?”

Bokuto nods vigorously, obviously glad he hasn’t been scolded. “Hey hey hey, Akaashi! You’ve been working on jump floats, right? Wanna do some serves with me? And then when we’re done, you can toss to me!”

Akaashi smiles. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

*

 

When Konoha and Sarukui arrive, and Kuroo and Kenma soon after with a litter of Nekoma players, Akaashi is sweating and his shoulders are kind of sore from repeating the same motion so much, but he’s having a hard time keeping his smile in check. Bokuto has to be much the same. He begs for one more toss, even though they’ve been practicing for more than an hour, and they’re about to start a practice match. Akaashi is tempted to give it to him, but there are a half-dozen gazes prickling at his neck, and Bokuto’s posture — standing tall, shoulders loose and relaxed, practically bouncing on his toes with energy — tells him this is the perfect place to stop.

“Don’t be greedy, Bokuto-san. You’ll get to spike more during the game,” he says, tucking the ball under his arm.

Bokuto whines a little bit, trailing after Akaashi, but he’s too excited to really pout. He swings an arm over Akaashi’s shoulders as they go over to everyone else and says, “Then you have to give me lots and lots of tosses in the game, okay? Akaashi’s tosses are the best!”

Akaashi thinks of all the setters they compete against, of Kageyama’s insane talent and adaptability, Sugawara’s easy trust and game-shifting aura, Oikawa’s ability to draw the best out of any hitter, and Kenma’s quiet dissection of every opponent. “Don’t exaggerate, Bokuto-san,” he says quietly, maybe a little bitterly.

Bokuto turns toward him, gaze flickering over his face seriously, arm flexing around Akaashi’s neck. Akaashi doesn’t look over. They’re only inches apart, and he knows the proximity would be too much for him. Then Bokuto squeezes him closer for a second, bumps their skulls together just hard enough to hurt, and says sharply, “I’m _not_.”

He almost sounds angry, but he’s pulled away before Akaashi can recover, bouncing off with Kuroo to say hello to the Nekoma players, leaving Akaashi confused and chilled from the sudden loss of his body heat.

 

*

 

Bokuto avoids Akaashi’s eyes for the first few points, his lips twitching oddly. Akaashi tries not to let it bother him, but he’s hyper aware of Bokuto’s movements on the court, even more than usual. His first toss goes to Bokuto. As his hands cushion the ball and release it, every inch of him focuses on giving him the perfect set — high arc, about six inches off the net, a touch faster than most wing sets, and a slight backspin — not sure it will help but hoping it can be some kind of peace offering.

Bokuto’s approach is as smooth and confident as ever, a few shuffles before his four-step run up and a high, powerful jump. Akaashi is no artist, but he’s pretty certain he could draw Bokuto’s mid-air form down to the folds in his clothes, as ingrained in his mind as it is: the angle of his targeting arm, the shifting line of his shoulders, the subtle arch of his back, the spread of his fingers, and the fearless grin on his face as he analyzes the blockers for a weakness to exploit. It’s what he remembers from the first time he saw Bokuto, and from every practice thereafter, what he was staring at when he thought _invincible_ and then _irresistible_ and then _oh… shit, fuck fuck fuck_ , and still, somehow, every time Bokuto glows brighter.

Kuroo is an amazing blocker — a truly terrifying opponent for the setter, who is supposed to clear the way for the spikers. Plus, he knows Bokuto’s habits better than anyone else they face. But Bokuto knows _him_ , too, and the spiker almost always has the advantage in a mid-air battle. Akaashi can’t tell from his vantage point how the point is won, but he has no doubt that it is, even before the ball hits the ground behind Kuroo.

Bokuto grins, big and cocky, at Kuroo, who scowls but says, “There’s a whole lot of game left, birthday boy.”

Bokuto laughs and turns to Akaashi. Expecting a plea for worship, Akaashi has already lined up his apathetic response. (Besides keeping his ego manageable, Akaashi has found that downplaying Bokuto’s small successes is a good way to show him that Akaashi isn’t impressed, isn’t surprised, because he was already confident he could do it.) What he gets, though, is Bokuto holding out a fist and staring so hard it’s basically a glare, despite the glowing smile on his face. “I’m not worried. I’ve got ‘Kaashi’s amazing tosses setting me up.” He says it forcefully, almost scoldingly, and Akaashi very nearly can’t stifle the shocked laughter that bubbles up in his chest.

As it is, he ends up sort of coughing and ducking his head to hide how he’s grinning like an idiot. For all his careful calculation and calibration of Bokuto’s volatile moods, it seems like Bokuto has just as strong a grasp of _his_ emotions. Logically, he still knows that there are setters who could do more for Bokuto, who could push him further and unleash his limitless potential, but there’s something affirming, thrilling, _intoxicating_ about this incredible player wanting him by his side.

He glances up at Bokuto when he thinks he has his expression a little more under control. Bokuto is watching him, and he beams when he sees the little smile on Akaashi’s lips.

He’ll have to explain it to Bokuto, eventually. For now, though, he’s just going to enjoy this.

 

*

 

And god, does he. Bokuto plays well, getting past Kuroo’s blocks more often than not, thinking strategically and brightening the whole court like he always does when he’s on. They win the first set with little issue. Toward the end of the second set, Bokuto hits a slump, mostly because he and Akaashi are trying out a new synchronized time-difference combo, but Kuroo keeps reading it like a kid’s book and utterly denying it.

When they lose that set, he gets restless and irritated, brows low over his eyes and teeth bared in a near snarl, but Akaashi has an idea before he can go full Dejected Mode. “Bokuto-san,” he murmurs at the beginning of the third set, turning away from the net and laying a hand on Bokuto’s shoulder. Bokuto grunts. Akaashi fights a frustrated sigh. “Fukunaga-san will be up to serve next. Can you guess where Kuroo-san is going to tell him to aim?” It takes a beat, but Bokuto finally turns from glaring at the opponents. He nods, one eyebrow raised for Akaashi to go on. All Akaashi says is “second tempo,” before settling back in position. But judging from the the way Bokuto’s eyes assess Kuroo and Fukunaga, he knows exactly what Akaashi means.

Three points later, Fukunaga is up to serve. Akaashi and Bokuto watch Kuroo mutter something to him as he heads to the service line. Akaashi flicks the hand signal to the rest of the team behind his back, glancing approvingly at the hard line of Bokuto’s shoulders and the way his restless energy immediately settles into a solid stance.

The serve comes with the unbelievable accuracy Fukunaga is always capable of, dropping just far enough to the right of Bokuto that he has to lay out to get it in the air. “Nice receive,” Akaashi says. He’s glad Bokuto is as good a receiver as he is, despite always being so focused on spikes. He shifts just two steps over, face carefully neutral, tracking Kuroo and the other blockers in his peripheral expectantly.

His teammates all begin their approaches just as Akaashi’s hands touch the ball, and Akaashi watches Kuroo’s shoulders turn exactly as he wanted them to. His toss goes high and outside, a beautiful set for Bokuto, who has quickly recovered from his dive and is already in his run up.

Kuroo swears and jerks back the other way, practically stumbling into a jump to catch up to the toss.

But Bokuto, radiating confidence and power once again, pauses in his approach, letting Kuroo hit the peak of his jump while he bends his knees for an extra second. A shit-eating grin is plastered on his face as he leaps for the ball and slams it from above Kuroo’s falling hands. It’s a straight, and Fukunaga is there, but he, like Kuroo, was not prepared for Bokuto to be in a position to hit. He’s too far back, ready to cover a deep cross from the middle or right side. Bokuto flicks his wrist down, and the ball falls mid-court. Akaashi feels satisfaction rush through him, the smug pride of his play succeeding.

Kuroo wipes his arm over his forehead, smiling ruefully. “Bastard,” he says on a heavy exhale, thin eyes dragging from Bokuto to Akaashi. Akaashi has never been so flattered to be insulted. He shoots Kuroo a closed-mouth smirk as Bokuto bounds over to him.

“Hey, hey! Did you see that, Akaash? Wasn’t I _awesome_?” He asks, head tilting back and forth like the owl he’s named for.

“Yes, Bokuto-san. You showed an impressive capacity for following directions,” he says flatly, though he suspects he’s too slow to wipe the fondness from his eyes for it to sting.

Nothing has changed, really. It was only one point, and Kuroo still has a good grasp on the attack and how they use it. But Bokuto is back on, and it seems like that point planted a seed of doubt in Kuroo and the other blockers’ heads. The next few times Fukurodani attacks, Akaashi can see hesitation in their movements — just for a split second, just a twitch backward when they start to commit, but it’s enough. Now, their unperfected technique is beginning to get through, the success rate increasing with every attempt.

When Fukurodani is leading Nekoma 19-15, and pulling away, Kenma pulls Kuroo down by his jersey and whispers something to him. Kuroo’s expression immediately shuts down into his poker face. A ripple runs up Akaashi’s spine and down his arms, fingers tingling, mind on high alert. Next to him, Bokuto mutters, “uh-oh,” echoing his thoughts. Nekoma starts a comeback, their offense suddenly pulling maneuvers Akaashi’s never seen them do — first-tempo slides, diagonal quicks, and synchronized attacks where players switch positions mid-approach. Fukurodani flounders, baffled by the attack arsenal Nekoma seems to have developed between plays. Akaashi’s head is kind of spinning, doubly confused because he feels like he’s having déjà vu, but he doesn’t know why. On the next point, Kuroo starts his approach so early that he’s jumped before Kenma sets the ball. The toss ends up so mistimed with his jump that they don’t connect at all, Kuroo falling before the ball can reach his hand. It’s when Kuroo lands on his back, already laughing, choking out, “That’s way harder than it looks!” that Akaashi finally realizes where he’s seen those moves before.

They’re copying Karasuno’s Hinata Shouyou.

Akaashi does some quick risk assessment. The score is already 23-21 in Nekoma’s favor. Even if he can tell his teammates without tipping Nekoma off that they’ve caught on, Hinata Shouyou is a _force_ on the court. They may have beaten Karasuno during training camp, but they never found a strategy that could shut Hinata Shouyou down. Still, though, at least if they know who Nekoma is imitating, his teammates might recognize the moves as they happen and be able to react with confidence. And while Nekoma is impressive, none of them compare to Karasuno’s erratic little redhead in speed.

Akaashi decides to risk it, hoping Kenma is too distracted dragging Kuroo to his feet to notice him telling Bokuto and Washio what’s going on. Thankfully, Bokuto listens with far more discretion than he’s usually capable of, and Washio shows his usual high level of subtlety. They both glance at Nekoma and then each other, new assessment in their eyes. Akaashi intercepts the ball as it rolls to Konoha for his serve, and hands it to him so he can quietly deliver the message. Konoha clicks his tongue like he’s annoyed at himself but doesn’t otherwise react. As for Komi and Sarukui, Akaashi will just have to hope they can react based on their teammates’ movements.

Konoha serves. Yaku receives, Kenma sets, and, sure enough, Yamamoto sprints in at an angle and then leaps back out diagonally. Akaashi and Washio are there, a little too far in-court but still in the way, and Washio’s right arm deflects the ball to the ground at Yamamoto’s feet.

Akaashi forces his eyes not to slip to Kenma, knowing it would give him away. Instead, he and Bokuto slap Washio on the back. Washio looks convincingly surprised, staring at his arm. Akaashi’s not sure if he’s acting for Nekoma’s sake or if he’s genuinely surprised that they stopped that kind of attack in one shot.

Akaashi palms the ball, which rolled to his feet. He spins it in his hands, feeling a little more confident, a little more in control, a little more ready to knock Nekoma down. He passes the ball to Konoha.

Kuroo tries a slide hit next, but ends up so close behind Kenma that it narrows his course considerably, and Bokuto shuts him down with ease. Bokuto laughs out a victory cry, to which Kuroo crosses his arms, eyes darting around their team suspiciously. Luckily, Bokuto chooses that moment to turn to Akaashi and needle him for a compliment, leaning an arm on his shoulder like he’s a desk. Akaashi shrugs Bokuto off, saying, “That was a lucky read, Bokuto-san, on a move that I don’t think Kuroo-san has practiced very much. Try blocking him on one of his usual hits.”

Bokuto pouts, but tugs on his jersey and declares, “I will, Akaash! You’ll see! I can beat Kuroo any day!”

This seems to both appease Kuroo’s suspicions and effectively distract him by pulling him into a bickering war with Bokuto.

Just as Konoha calls out the score before his serve, Akaashi feels Bokuto’s amber gaze boring a hole in him. He glances over. Bokuto’s gaze flickers across the net and then back to him, an impish grin spreading slowly over his lips. Akaashi ignores the heat that flashes down his chest to swell in his gut, the goosebumps that race up his spine and down his arms, instead letting the corners of his mouth flick up into an answering conspiratorial smile.

Konoha serves again, and Akaashi rips his attention to the other side. He watches as Kuroo and Yamamoto share the tiniest of glances, then start their approaches at the same moment. He’s ready for it when they switch places on their last step.

He’s not ready for the ball to hit the ground before either spiker has jumped.

“Kenma!” Kuroo and Yamamoto whine as they stumble to abrupt stops, obviously just as unprepared for the setter dump.

Kenma just shrugs, a tiny, evil smirk on his face. “Match point,” he says quietly.

Bokuto clicks his tongue, hands on his hips as he looks at Kenma approvingly. “Bring it on, cats,” he says, undaunted. Their teammates echo the sentiment with grins and shouts. Komi vaults himself off Bokuto’s shoulders; Konoha and Sarukui knock fists.

They win the next point, forcing a deuce. Nekoma wins the next one, and so begins a back-and-forth stalemate that has all of their hearts racing, breaths huffing out in exertion, sweat dripping down their skin.

Akaashi puts Fukurodani at match point with a well-placed setter dump (and so what if he’s taking revenge on Kenma?), score in the thirties.

The next rally seems _endless_ , both teams unwilling to let the point go against them, forcing their bodies to the limits to keep it in the air. Komi gets an incredibly difficult save off a one-touch, not an A-pass but high enough and close enough to center court that Akaashi could set up a quick or a combo. Even though he doesn’t normally play middle blocker, Sarukui looks confident and ready to try a quick, and Akaashi decides the surprise of it might be enough to win it for them.

“Akaash!” Bokuto shouts, bouncing on his toes. “Let me finish this!” There is no exhaustion or frustration in his voice, just the simple pleasure of playing the game he loves and the inescapable power of his confidence, like his own gravitational pull.

It’s instinct at that point for Akaashi to answer, “Take it home, Bokuto-san,” and give him another high, backspinning toss.

There’s no deception to the play, so Fukunaga, Kuroo, and Kenma are all there to block it, jumping a half-second after Bokuto to meet him at his peak. Akaashi can see that Kenma’s block, farthest in-court, is the lowest and weakest, and he expects Bokuto to aim there.

A second later, though, he’s glad that’s not what happened. Whether through pre-planning or simple gut reaction, Kuroo shifted his arms to compensate for Kenma’s block, and had Bokuto gone for a cross, he would’ve been utterly denied. Akaashi doesn’t know if Bokuto somehow saw that coming (he doubts it, honestly), but he didn’t fall into that trap. Instead he took all that desperate straight practice and put it to use, slipping past Fukunaga’s coverage by mere millimeters and painting the line with a perfect straight shot.

There’s a half-second of quiet, the heavy slam of Bokuto hitting the spike and the even louder boom of it hitting the ground echoing in Akaashi’s ribcage. Bokuto exhales heavily, and then he breaks the silence by yelling at the top of his lungs, a cheer that sounds suspiciously like hooting. Their whole team bursts into cheers and laughter. Bokuto finds and meets Akaashi’s gaze, and Akaashi gives him a soft, proud smile. Bokuto beams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wondering where the plot was? Me too. The next chapter should actually contain stuff.


	2. Execution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the plot appears! (sort of) (at the very end)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, i just caught up to the manga, and holy hell if chapters 330-337 didn't bring back all my desperate love for bokuaka. i fuck with this character development so hard. so, uh, here's the next installation of this beast that just keeps getting longer.

Akaashi is downing a water bottle, inhaling through his nose and crushing it in his hand to get all the water possible, when Kuroo says, “Hey, Akaashi, aren’t you supposed to be meeting your grandparents?”

Swiping a hand across his mouth, Akaashi drops the empty bottle and checks the clock on the wall. He swears when he realizes how late he’s running. He has his shoes changed and is out the door in record time, mind already whirling with the changes he’ll have to make to his plans now that he has so much less time.

He doesn’t think about how abrupt his departure was until he hears his name shouted and rapid footsteps behind him. Then it occurs to him that it must seem weird to Bokuto, maybe even a little hurtful, that Akaashi would leave on his birthday without saying goodbye, because he doesn’t know they’ll be seeing each other again in an hour or so. He feels guilt prickle at his insides at doing anything that might hurt Bokuto, even unintentionally.

Turning around to face him, Akaashi is grateful that there doesn’t seem to be any suspicion or hurt in his upperclassman’s expression, just contentment and maybe a little hesitance.

“I don’t want to make you late,” Bokuto says, stopping just a little farther away from Akaashi than is normal for a face-to-face conversation. Akaashi knits his eyebrows at the distance. Bokuto usually has the opposite problem about personal space. “I just wanted to say thanks for coming, and nice job out there today!” He grins and holds two thumbs up.

Akaashi smiles a little. “You played well today, too.”

Bokuto preens. “I did, didn’t I? Well, that’s the job of the ace!”

“I suppose it is.” Akaashi waits until Bokuto is looking right at him, bright gold locked on dark green, before he says, “Happy birthday, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto’s smile fades in surprise before it’s back in full, blinding force. His hands twitch at his sides, one foot taking an aborted step forward. He stops himself though, hesitates just out of reach, and Akaashi finds himself confused, unsettled, and kind of irritated. So _he_ closes the distance, takes a couple of steps and quickly wraps Bokuto in a hug before he can chicken out. Bokuto, who was saying “thanks, Akaashi,” breaks off in the middle of his name with a surprised squeak.

He’s frozen for only half a second, though, before he lifts his arms and squeezes the life out of Akaashi. He laughs, loud and genuine, the sound shaking through his chest and vibrating in Akaashi’s.

Akaashi savors the touch, but there’s a clock ticking away in his brain, so he taps Bokuto on the back after a moment and untangles himself. Bokuto’s arms fall to his sides. “I should go.”

Bokuto nods but doesn’t move.

Akaashi rolls his eyes. He grabs Bokuto by the shoulders and spins him around, then nudges him in the back. “Go have fun, Bokuto-san. On Monday, you’ll be running suicides for those four missed serves,” he promises gravely.

Bokuto grins over his shoulder. “You’re a slave driver, Akaashi!”

He does a little hop step to start back toward the gym at a jog. Akaashi watches him go, until he realizes how _ridiculous_ he’s being and forces himself to turn away.

He checks his phone for the time and grimaces. If he’d left an hour ago, when he should have, he would have plenty of time to go home and shower, probably even enough time to go buy Bokuto a present, if he’d thought of anything. Now, the present is definitely out of the question, and he will never have time to get to his house, shower, and get to Kuroo’s with enough time to finish setting up. If he’d thought of it, he could’ve brought clothes with him this morning to change into, but he’d been too caught up in the first part of the day to plan ahead. He sighs. Maybe he can slip out once the party starts.

He snorts and shakes his head. Bokuto can be embarrassingly oblivious, but as soon as Akaashi wants to hide something, he notices everything, whether it’s the bags under Akaashi’s eyes or the way he’s been very careful with his left wrist after that awkward fall or the way he ducks out anytime the other boys talk about girls. Bokuto will be caught up in the surprise of the party and bounce from person to person excitedly for the first hour, probably won’t even look over at Akaashi, but if Akaashi tried to leave, he would know immediately.

His phone buzzes in his hand, and he lifts it up to check the message. It’s Kuroo, and as Akaashi reads it, two more messages beep through.

 

**The owl has left the nest.**

 

**AKA we’re taking Bo to lunch. U got 2 hrs.**

 

**I know u left late, so u can shower at mine. There’s probs old Nekoma stuff in my bottom drawer that’ll fit ur skinny ass.**

 

Akaashi sighs in relief. He types a message back.

 

**I take it back, Kuroo-san. You’re not always a pain in the ass.**

 

Kuroo just answers with a bunch of emojis that are probably supposed to express his indignation.

Akaashi stuffs his phone in his pocket and heads to Kuroo’s, already mentally going through his checklist to be ready in two hours.

 

*

 

Everything goes off without a hitch. Watching as Bokuto’s eyes flit around the room to each of his teammates, his expression lighting up, Akaashi allows himself to feel redeemed from his uncharacteristic carelessness earlier.

Bokuto rounds on Kuroo with a bear hug that makes Akaashi wince for Kuroo’s ribcage. He coughs a little but takes it with grace, patting Bokuto’s back. When he releases him, Bokuto squints and tilts his head at Kuroo, and it’s still quiet enough in the wake of their “SURPRISE!” that they all hear him say, “Bro, I love you, but no offense, there’s no way _you_ did all this.” He points behind him at the table Akaashi has set up with ten different snacks and a half-dozen types of soda. (Akaashi knows Kuroo has alcohol stashed somewhere, but he stayed out of that aspect of planning.) “There’s a tablecloth on that, and the bowls are _color-coordinated_ with it.”

There is laughter around the room. Next to Akaashi, toward the back, Kenma covers his mouth with his hand as he shakes with silent giggles. The collective laugh has broken the stalemate, and people break off into quiet conversations. Sarukui, their resident DJ, takes that as his cue to start the music. The room fills with upbeat pop music and the voices of all Bokuto’s closest friends.

Kuroo crosses his arms and tries to look offended at Bokuto’s comment, but the smirk twitching at his mouth gives him away. His eyes slide past Bokuto to Akaashi and Kenma in the corner, and Bokuto spins around to follow his gaze. When he sees them, he seems briefly excited before his smile falls and his thick eyebrows scrunch up over his eyes. Akaashi fights back a snort when he realizes what Bokuto is concerned about. He and Kenma slip past Komi and Nekoma’s Kai (Akaashi spares a moment to wonder what _they_ could be talking about) to join Kuroo and Bokuto.

“Akaashi! What about your grandparents?!” Bokuto asks frantically.

Kuroo snickers. Kenma cracks a smile. Akaashi raises one eyebrow and waits.

Bokuto blinks. “Oh!” He looks around the room again. “ _Oh_!” He perks up, eyes crinkling as he beams at Akaashi. “You’re the best, Akaashi!” He opens his arms and steps forward, but he stops short, like he did earlier.

Akaashi, assuming this is the same strange hesitance he’d shown outside the gym, is about to step into the embrace when he realizes Bokuto is staring at his shirt. Glaring at it, almost. He glances down and remembers that he’s wearing the long-sleeved red t-shirt he’d found carefully folded in Kuroo’s dresser. “What?”

Bokuto’s face is beginning to unfreeze, lips twitching into a frown. “That’s Kuroo’s shirt.”

Actually, Akaashi isn’t so sure about that. It’s the right size for Kuroo, but based on the way it was folded while everything else was just stuffed into the dresser, and the way the sleeves have permanent creases from being rolled up to nearly Akaashi’s elbows, someone else wears it — and he has a pretty good guess who. Judging from the leer Kuroo sends Kenma, and the blush and elbow in the gut he gets for it, Akaashi’s hunch is right. He tucks that information away, already trying to find the right way to ask Kenma about it.

“Yes, it is,” he says calmly. “I showered after the game earlier, and I wasn’t going to put my gross gym clothes back on.”

Bokuto is full-on sulking now. Akaashi kind of feels like shaking him, or throwing his hands in the air in surrender. Every time he thinks he has this guy figured out, something else comes along, almost like the world is just warning him not to get comfortable. On court, Akaashi can handle Dejected Mode, but in a social situation, Bokuto is supposed to be the reliable one. “But it says Nekoma.”

He says the name with more vitriol than usual, and when he looks back up at Akaashi, there’s betrayal in his eyes. Akaashi feels guilt splash at the back of his throat involuntarily. He swallows it down. “It’s just for today, Bokuto-san,” he says patiently. “It’s not like I’m actually switching teams.” _It’s not like I’m actually leaving you_ , he almost says, only just realizing how it would sound and stopping himself in time.

“I know that!” Bokuto protests indignantly, though it sounds like maybe he needed the reassurance. “It’s just…” he trails off, eyes raking over the red and black shirt again. He curls a fist in the bottom of his own shirt, the blue “Rules of the Ace” shirt he loves so much — he wasn’t wearing that earlier, Akaashi realizes, and wonders how Kuroo pulled that off. “I don’t like it,” Bokuto concludes finally, sticking his lower lip out.

Akaashi resists the urge to flick it. “Noted,” he says in his driest tone. “Now, will you please go enjoy your birthday party?”

Bokuto sighs heavily, like that’s a huge chore. But as soon as he’s turned his back on the offensive t-shirt, he’s back to bouncing with every step, filling the room with rib-crushing hugs and echoing laughter.

**Author's Note:**

> Wondering where the plot was? Me too. The next chapter should actually contain stuff.


End file.
